


Some Things are Meant to Be

by blackgoliath



Series: Graceland More Like Gayland [6]
Category: Graceland (TV)
Genre: (oh my god do i try), M/M, a little bit of gay, fake husbands
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-06-30
Packaged: 2017-12-11 11:15:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/798084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackgoliath/pseuds/blackgoliath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mike needs Briggs to fake marry him for a case; shenanigans ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Upside Down

**Author's Note:**

  * For [isengard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/isengard/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Only Fools Rush In](https://archiveofourown.org/works/790340) by [isengard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/isengard/pseuds/isengard). 



Briggs twists the wedding ring around his finger, lost deep in thought despite the general ruckus that fills the bar around him.

It's not real, the ring or the impression it gives; he's only wearing it to help Mike on a job investigating a mafia boss' wife. He's wearing it because they'd gone to a meeting earlier in the day, a meeting for couples who were preparing to either adopt or give birth to a child, neither of which he was actually planning on doing in the near future. But he had to look the part, had to act like he and Mike were so in love they were looking to snatch up some orphaned baby in order to make their family 'complete'. It was an easy cover, and he did a great job when they were in the moment. Mike had given him this ring to look more realistic, and that was it. That was all he needed to do with this band of gold-coated metal, a band that would hardly pass for a real wedding ring if anyone with the expertise required actually took the time to look at it.

So why was he still wearing it?

"Are you married?" the girl had asked, the girl he'd been chatting up and hitting on for the past twenty minutes, his arm resting on the bar as he leaned forward and employed the sexiest grin and the most charming stories he had in his arsenal.

"What?"

"Are you married?" she'd repeated, pointing at the tell-tale ring on his finger. "I don't have sex with married men."

"Oh, that. No, I'm not, we're separated, sometimes I just forget---"

"Yeah, I don't sleep with married men." She'd clutched at her handbag and slid off the bar stool, not even bothering to finish the drink he'd bought for her. "Sorry."

"Whoa, whoa, wait a second! I'm not lying and I'm _not_ married--"

"You know, I've heard that a lot from guys like you. And then after we fuck he always says, oh, do you mind if I call my wife? Thanks but no thanks; I'm not a homewrecker." And with that she'd disappeared into the crowd of people filling the bar, leaving Briggs alone with his beer and his thoughts.

He blames Mike, even though it's his own fault for forgetting to take the stupid thing off. Mike, the agent who was so green sometimes Briggs was surprised a daisy wasn't popping out of the kid's forehead; Mike, who'd come to his room a week or so before and asked him to pretend they were married so they could get close to a big mob boss' wife; Mike, the guy he had to pretend to be in love with for a day every week while a group of pregnant women (and one other gay couple who wouldn't leave them alone) fawned over the two of them and expressed their congratulations at 'making it this far' and deciding to adopt a child. 

Pregnant women made him uncomfortable; always had and always would. It most likely had something to do with babies and the fragility of life and other deep crap he didn't worry about. Yet, somehow, pretending to be married to Mike and forcing himself to act that particular part made him more uncomfortable than a room full of expecting mothers ever could.

It's time for another beer, he decides, ignoring the turmoil in his brain in favor of flagging down the waitress and grinning at her, dimples and all, as she takes his order. He's ready to lose himself in the frothing wheat-colored liquid when he just happens to glance toward the bar and spots Mike. The others - Johnny, DJ, Lauren and Charlie - are sitting at a round table in the corner, one which Briggs had been occupying before he spotted the brunette he'd been trying to flirt with, and Mike appears to have left the group for a similar reason. He's sitting on a stool and drinking a Guinness (as far as Briggs can tell from this angle) and chatting up the guy sitting next to him. It's just some dude, Briggs thinks, even as the jealousy twists in his gut. The fuck do I care? The kid's making friends, and that's good, he's new in town and needs all the contacts he can get....and still Briggs finds himself pushing away from the table and walking over to the bar and tapping Mike on the shoulder.

"Mind if I talk to you for a minute? It's kind of important."

Somehow it seems like Mike's eyes are automatically drawn to the ring on Briggs' hand, the ring he still hasn't fucking taken off, but Briggs is sure that's just the six beers he's consumed in the last two hours talking. 

"Sure thing. Just a second." Mike apologizes to his new acquaintance and slides off the bar stool. He doesn't protest when Briggs grabs his arm and leads him out of the bar, not even bothering to glance back and see what the others make of all this. Hopefully they're also too drunk to really give a shit. He'd rather not have to deal with any awkward questions in the morning when at the moment he's still not quite sure what he's doing himself.

He drags Mike outside into the alley and is glad that Mike is going with his usual tactic in the face of Briggs' wishes, i.e. not saying or questioning anything at all. It's when they're outside and Briggs finally lets go that he realizes he has no excuse, no pressing matter to use when Mike asks what he's doing, which he inevitably does.

"What was so important you had to bring me out here?" Mike's looking up at him with that same doe-eyed expression he always wears whenever Briggs is around, and it just makes it harder for Briggs to come up with a real answer. 

"I needed to talk to you about the job," he finally says. Mike stares at him and shrugs, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"Alright. What about it?"

He can, if he really tries, come up with something on the spot that will answer Mike's question. Briggs is good at that; just like when he'd made up that bullshit story about the Movie when under pressure, he's always been talented with working on the fly if a job starts going south. Except this time his sharp brain and quick tongue, usually so ready to provide the right story, sit heavy and dead and useless in his head. Instead of easily providing an excuse he studies Mike's face, watching the confusion and apprehension flick across those cute features ('cute' was a term that he often used while thinking of Mike and if anyone asked he'd deny it to his grave) and still says nothing.

Mike waits a beat longer before putting on a lopsided frown. "Well, if you're not going to tell me, I was kind of talking to somebody---" Mike cuts himself off because Briggs is cupping his cheek, brushing a thumb over the very same lips he's been staring at for the last minute or so.

"What were you talking about?

"Um." Briggs finds his gaze attracted to the way Mike's Adam's apple bobs when he swallows. Well, that's new. "Nothing important."

"Good." He brings his lips to Mike's, tentatively at first, testing the waters to see what Mike'll do. And again he's surprised; the kid immediately clings to the front of Brigg's shirt and drags him back for a deeper, needier kiss, all eager lips and tongue and teeth and so Briggs pushes him up against the alley wall, not caring that someone could come out at any second and see the two of them grabbing at each other as if their lives depended on it. _I had more beer than I realized_ , Briggs thinks as he presses flush against Mike, a flash of heat traveling straight to his crotch when he earns an unintended moan from his 'partner'. Then one hand is in Mike's hair and the other is pressing against Mike's lower back and he can taste the drinks Mike's had, the Guinness and something else, something fruitier, and he doesn't think about much else until Mike pulls back with a quiet gasp.

"I don't---what are we doing, sir?" Mike asks, reverting back to the honorific he'd stopped using weeks ago. He must be really out of it.

Briggs watches him for a moment, searching his face, then drops his arms. "Nothing. We're not doing anything." He's stepping back and Mike almost looks like he regrets what he said, like he wants to reach out and pull Briggs back and maybe even kiss him again, but by now it's too late. Neither of them say anything for a long time; eventually Briggs grabs at the side door and pulls it open, gesturing for Mike to head back inside.

"After you, dear." 

Mike opens his mouth, probably to protest, and then surprises Briggs for the second time when he moves forward and gently presses his lips to Briggs'. 

"See you inside, honeybunch," he says with a smile, and when he's gone Briggs is left holding the door open to a bar he doesn't really want to return to. This is something they'll have to deal with when the both of them are sober (or, as Briggs suspects as he steps through the doorway and lets the heavy metal door close behind him, put off as much as they can) but until then Briggs is going to have another beer and introduce himself to the fine redhead sitting on the stool closest to him at the end of the bar. He twists the fake wedding ring off his finger and deposits it in his front pocket as he hails the bartender, purposefully focusing on the cleavage peeking through the redhead's sheer top and not how warm and firm Mike's body felt against his own, how he hadn't been this turned on by another man since....well, since a while. 

Still, he reasoned as he slid up to the bar next to the redhead, turning on the full power of his dimples; he and Mike were 'married' now. If he tried to pursue something, he'd have plenty of opportunities, right?

They'd be working together for a while, which meant plenty of time to figure all this out and make another move if he felt like it. He finds his gaze sliding from the redhead's and fixing on Mike, who's returned to the table where the rest of the Graceland crew is located, and he finds himself smiling.

There was no way this could go wrong.


	2. I'll Be Around

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike wants to hash out some details of their fake relationship.

"I think our first meeting should have been at the beach. Maybe you saw me wipeout and came to help me, and we started talking, and -- Briggs, are you listening? Briggs? Paul?"

"What?" Briggs looked up from the file he was reading (for the second time that day). Mike was standing at the kitchen counter nearby, a glass of water in his hand. "Don't call me Paul. We're not _actually_ married, remember?"

"Sorry," Mike said automatically. "Did you hear what I said?"

"Uh. Something about surfing?"

"Almost." Mike smiled. "I was saying our first meeting should have been at the beach. Maybe when we were surfing."

"Yeah, that sounds good. I bought you a Mai Tai and we went out for hot dogs." Briggs went back to reading the file.

"Ooh, yeah, I like that. And then maybe we started going steady, after you took me to a _real_ dinner, and after a month or so you came back to my place and--"

"Whoa, whoa, Levi," Briggs interrupted. He didn't let himself get distracted by the cutely confused look Mike gave him; it was getting harder to keep his head around the kid lately, which wasn't good. There was something suspicious about their newest housemate, and Briggs needed to be on the top of his game to figure it out. "We need a convincing story, but you don't have to map out our entire fake relationship."

"That's what I thought too, until last week when that other gay couple started talking to me about us." Mike flushed a little, and Briggs wondered if he'd noticed that he'd said ' _other_ gay couple', as if he and Briggs were actually together. 

"I doubt the questions were _that_ specific."

"You'd be surprised. They drilled me about what theme we were using for the baby's bedroom - I said jungle, by the way - and wouldn't stop until the class started. It wasn't just them, either. Our target was pretty interested too."

"That's because she thinks you're cute," Briggs interjected idly. "She stares at you a lot during the meetings." He kept his eyes down, not mentioning that part of the reason he knew this was because he himself spent a lot of time staring at Mike. Totally platonically, of course.

"Oh. I didn't notice."

"Mmmhm." Briggs turned the page. When he glanced up again he saw that Mike was looking at him with an odd expression. Briggs frowned.

"What?"

"There was something else I wanted to talk to you about," Mike began slowly.

"Okay. What is it?"

"When that couple started talking to me, well...one of them asked me if we were fighting, because you didn't sit very close to me and I guess we weren't acting 'coupley' enough, I guess, and if he noticed then maybe we should, uh, try to fix that? So we look more like we're happily married and excited about a baby, blend in better, you know--" Mike was starting to ramble; it was endearingly embarrassing. 

"What I mean is," Mike went on, "maybe we could try to be more touchy, more affectionate? During the meetings, I mean. And we should probably, I don't know, kiss once in a while...? Just a peck, of course, nothing _too_ bad. It might help our, uh, image."

Briggs was very good at hiding any inner turmoil, which was why he seemed very calm on the surface while inside his heartrate had increased fairly dramatically. Mike had a point, so why was he suddenly getting nervous?

"Sure," Briggs said finally, and Mike visibly relaxed. "We'll be more touchy-feely."

"Great! Great, that's great." Mike took a big gulp of his water, then blurted, "Should we practice?"

Briggs laughed, setting the file he'd been reading on the table in front of him. "Practice? What would we practice?"

"Kissing, maybe? Just to get comfortable with it, so it's not weird when we do it in public."

Mike looked like he almost regretted bringing it up. Briggs deliberated for a moment, knowing this wasn't really necessary and yet also knowing that some of his withdrawal from Mike during the last meeting had been because of a certain incident that occurred at a bar a few weeks ago. And Mike _was_ right. They needed to look legitimate, and that meant being affectionate without it seeming stilted or fake. The job depended on a believable cover, because if they weren't happy in their roles as a fake couple, the job could go south. Their cover hinged on legitimacy; they had to look natural or risk blowing the whole thing.

Yeah, that was the excuse he'd stick with.

Briggs stood without answering. Mike's eyes widened slightly as Briggs approached, tongue flicking out to lick his dry lips when Briggs' hands came up and cupped his face.

"Like this?" Briggs asked, leaning in and pressing a light kiss to Mike's mouth.

"Yeah, that's pretty good." Mike's tone was teasing when he added, "But I think you can do better."

This was starting to move into dangerous territory. One tipsy kiss was something he could safely ignore, but if anything happened now, it would be a lot harder to put down as a fluke, and he was pretty sure the two of them would start something Briggs wasn't entirely sure he was okay with. But then Mike was looking up at him in an almost challenging way and Briggs realized he didn't want this particular challenge to go unanswered.

"You have no idea, Levi," Briggs said with a grin, and this time when their lips met there was nothing light about it. Mike nipped at Briggs' bottom lip and his mouth opened under Briggs' and Briggs pressed Mike back up against the counter, their bodies molding perfectly as Mike's hands found their way to Briggs' hips. Briggs deepened the kiss, pulse jumping at the soft noise Mike made, and he could feel Mike's fingers moving beneath his shirt and brushing over the bare skin just above his belt. He was calculating how quickly he could get Mike upstairs without breaking the kiss when there came a very pointed cough from the other side of the kitchen.

Briggs automatically jumped back, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand as his eyes fell on Charlie, her hand on a cocked hip, lips curled up at the corners as her gaze flicked from one to the other.

"You two having fun?"

Briggs opened his mouth to say something cool, to play it off as no big deal but Mike beat him: "We were just practicing."

"Practicing, huh?" Charlie grinned and winked at Mike. "Let me know if you ever need my help with your practice." Then she was gone, her high heels clicking loudly as she walked up the stairs. Briggs glanced at Mike and shook his head, though he couldn't keep himself from smiling.

"Nice one."

"Hey, it was the best I could do on short notice!" 

Briggs brushed his thumb along Mike's jaw, enjoying the way Mike's eyelids fluttered at the touch. "Next time," he said, closing the distance between them again, "Let _me_ handle it."


	3. An Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which I attempt to incorporate the latest episode, where [SPOILERS] Mike is dealing with Eddie's suicide having happened right in front of his eyes.

"Levi?" Briggs poked his head into Mike's room, brow creased. "Mike? You in here?" The room was dark, the shades drawn, so Briggs couldn't see anything inside unless he waited for his eyes to adjust; and when his inquiry was met with silence he decided not to wait and instead turned to leave . 

"Yeah, I'm here." Mike's voice came from the gloom, still as wavery as it had been in the kitchen, and Briggs was sure he heard a quick sniff before Mike - a darker shape against the darkness of the bed - stood up. "Did you need something?"

"No, no, I just--" Briggs remembered Mike's face only an hour or so ago, the clear sheen of held-back tears in his eyes, the way Mike stated he wanted to be alone while he washed the dishes. They were on an assignment together, sure, but it certainly wasn't mutually exclusive, and Briggs had been on the scene with other FBI agents when Eddie, one of Bellos' men, killed himself. To Briggs it was just another day on the job; he'd seen and heard much worse during his time with the bureau. But to Mike....well, it was something entirely different. 

"Just wanted to see if you were okay," Briggs said finally with a shrug, almost to himself, and half turned in the doorway. "Good night."

Mike was at Briggs' side faster than he would have thought possible, one hand on Briggs' arm, and even in the blackness of Mike's room he could see the near desperation on Mike's face.

"Um, I'm...actually not. Could you stay for a little bit?"

Briggs sighed like it was a chore but he let Mike lead him into the room, even closing the door with his foot behind them. There were a million things he wanted to say, knew he _should_ say, and all of them were along the same thread as his comment earlier: _"It's just sauce, Mike."_ It was 'just sauce', a death Mike couldn't have controlled even if he tried, a situation that if he'd attempted to stop would've gotten him killed. It was something that in this line of business Mike needed to get used to. These were the things Briggs would have said, what he _should_ have said, but then Mike rested his head on Briggs' shoulder and gave another sad little sniff and for the life of him Briggs couldn't bring himself to say any of those things.

Some intimidating FBI guy he was.

Briggs patted Mike's arm awkwardly. "Hey, come on, it's okay."

Another sniff. "Don't patronize me. I know it's stupid to get this upset over some criminal, but--God, the look on his face when he pulled the trigger--"

"It'll be a lot better for you if you don't think about that."

As his eyes adjusted Briggs could see Mike better, and when the younger agent lifted his head Briggs was just able to make out the tight expression on his face. 

"See, I _know_ that, but I still can't _stop_. I keep replaying it over and over in my head, the gun in his mouth and the way his brain matter went flying and--" Mike inhaled sharply and pulled away from Briggs' half-hearted embrace. "Everything I learned tells me I shouldn't care but I do. And I don't know how to stop."

Well this was certainly not what he was expecting. Briggs had dragged himself out of bed to check on Mike, partly because he sometimes felt like the dad when it came to this house, and partly because of the strange relationship the two of them had fallen into. In short he'd felt obligated to do something and he'd expected Mike to suck it up and say, hey, I"m fine, don't worry about it, and let the both of them get to sleep without much fuss (that's what Briggs himself would have done in this situation). Instead, Mike was sitting there looking at him expectantly in the half-light filtering through what little cracks the blinds afforded and Briggs was wishing the kid would unhealthily suppress his emotions like Briggs did instead of sharing them.

"Look, Mike," Briggs began, attempting to gather his thoughts into something coherently comforting, "I know it's hard, but you have to move past it. Nothing you could've done would have changed Eddie's decision. It may sound harsh but the only thing I can tell you to do is get over it."

Mike didn't say anything, and in fact was so quiet that Briggs almost started to panic. Almost, of course, because he was used to high-stress situations and could appear calm even if his mother was dying in front of him, but this was testing his limits and when Mike finally let out a sigh Briggs' relief was almost tangible.

"You're right. I have to let it go." 

Briggs smiled, satisfied, and went to stand up. "Good. You get a good night's sleep and I'll see you in the morning--"

"Briggs," Mike interrupted. "Would you, uh.....would you stay with me? Just for tonight?"

_No,_ Briggs' brain said. _You gotta learn to deal with this on your own, just like I did._

"Yeah, sure," Briggs' mouth said instead, and he sat back down, letting Mike pulling him onto the bed, and before he knew it he found himself with an arm around Mike (dragged there by Mike himself) and one of Mike's legs settling between his own, positioned comfortably enough that he could think about sleeping and not fucking the kid senseless, which was a rarity these days if he was completely honest. 

"Thanks, Paul," Mike murmured sleepily, arms locked around Briggs' neck, and despite the slow simmer of irritation in his gut he didn't have the heart to correct the kid. He shifted, trying to get comfortable, thinking that as soon as Mike fell asleep he'd slip away and retreat to his own room. The two of them were in a, well, somewhat complicated situation at the moment, but that didn't mean he wanted this level of intimacy. Playing tonsil hockey and maybe having a good grope in the corner once in a while was one thing; this was completely different. And yet, though he knew by the cadence of Mike's breathing that the younger agent had fallen asleep, Briggs couldn't bring himself to move. He told himself it was because every time he tried Mike clung tighter, and that if he woke Mike up it would be hard to leave with those puppy dog eyes staring him down. He didn't acknowledge how flimsy this excuse was, or how difficult it would be to even see such an expression in the darkness of Mike's room. There was nothing to be done but to take one for the team, he told himself, as Mike nuzzled into his neck and sighed softly in his sleep. Nothing I can do, he kept repeating, even as he drifted off with Mike wrapped around him, the remainder of Mike's tears, shed only by his subconscious, slipping off of Mike's cheeks and down Briggs' throat. 

And when Briggs woke the next morning, Mike still clinging to him despite the many hours since he'd fallen asleep, Briggs still didn't move, even though he had plenty of opportunity to do so. Mike was out like a light and may very well not have noticed if Briggs pulled his hands away and slipped out of the bed. And yet.....Briggs stayed. Stayed until Mike woke up and blinked in the early morning sunlight streaming through the cracks in the shades and casting bars of light over the both of them and the room itself; stayed even as Mike smiled groggily and pressed his lips to Briggs' in a soft, gentle kiss, very much unlike what Briggs really wanted when it came to Mike; and then, when Mike murmured, "Wanna get some breakfast?" Briggs nodded and grinned a little and kissed Mike right back and it took them another twenty minutes before they even pulled away from each other, let alone considered actually getting up.

It was definitely not what Briggs had imagined when he'd gone to check on Mike the night before. But as Mike got up and opened the blinds, stretching in the bright morning sun that shone through the window in a way that showed off his lean, tight body, Briggs decided that he liked this ending a lot better.


End file.
